The Bricklayer

by Noah Boyd

  The statement, short by design, caused the reporters to start firing questions at Hildebrand. “Any idea why he killed himself? Was he depressed?”

  “I’m not a psychiatrist, but I believe depression is involved in most suicides. If he was depressed, we had no indication of it prior to this.”

  Another reporter asked, “How hard were you looking for him? Why wasn’t there a public plea for help in locating him?”

  The only answer that occurred to Hildebrand he knew could open Pandora’s box. He looked back past the lights for some signal from Kaulcrick, who sat in his chair passively. “Like any organization, on rare occasions,” Hildebrand started, “we have employees who are out of pocket for short periods of time. And when they are located, the explanations are usually quite innocuous. We had no reason to believe this was any different.”

  Then someone asked, “Was there any connection between the suicide and the unsolved murders committed by the Rubaco Pentad?”

  Again the SAC looked at Kaulcrick, who gave no indication that he had even heard the question. “No, there was absolutely no connection,” Hildebrand said. “I’m sorry, I’m late for another meeting.”

  The reporters, smelling blood in the water, fired their questions on top of each other as the SAC picked up his notes and hurried out of the room.

  FIFTEEN

  AT NINE O’CLOCK THE NEXT MORNING, VAIL TAPPED ON TYE DELSON’S office door before pushing it open. She was leaning over a half-dozen law books that covered her desk, lost in her reading. “You got a minute?”

  She looked up, and it took a moment for her to remember where she was. “Oh, Steve, sorry. I was trying to figure out something.”

  “Is this a bad time?”

  “No, no. Shut the door, will you. I could use a break.” She shoved up the window behind her desk until it was completely open, drew a cigarette, and lit it. “Please, sit down.” She sat down on the sill.

  “You’ve heard, I assume.”

  “About Stan, yes. They called me for a legal opinion for a search of the house and car. After the fact, I’m guessing.”

  “What do you think about Bertok’s involvement now?”

  “If you remember, the first time we met I told you I didn’t think he could be involved in any murders. They said he shot at you. I guess I’ve always been better with books than people.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true. I want to ask you a people question—which has to stay in the room.”

  She took a drag on her cigarette and blew out the smoke pensively. “That seems to be a standard tagline to any conversation with you.”

  “Does that mean you want to go back to your law books?”

  “God, no,” she said. “Please, I’m begging you, implicate me.”

  “I’m not sure that this extortion was a one-man job.”

  “There’s an awful lot of happy FBI bosses who think otherwise.”

  “Self-congratulating management—is there any bigger canary in the mine that something is wrong?”

  “I wouldn’t argue with that,” she said. “Do you have any proof?”

  “The timing at the tunnel isn’t right.”

  “Are you sure? Stress can distort time, especially when you’re going through something as sensory depriving as you did.”

  “I’m not talking just about inside the tunnel. I checked all the logs, the time that the GPS started away from the tunnel, and the time of the explosion when I blew open the hatch. Last night, I went back out there and timed the walk from the tunnel to where the truck was intercepted. Anyone coming back from that would have run into the surveillance agents. And whoever it was would have had to come back to pick up the money.”

  “So you think Bertok had a partner?”

  “One person couldn’t have done it alone, no. So, is there anyone you know that could have been in this with Bertok, if it was Bertok?”

  “If it was.”

  Vail chose not to explain. “Yes, if it was.”

  “Well, you’re the guy he was shooting at, so if you want to give him the benefit of the doubt, who am I to argue? I assume you mean someone in the FBI.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you asking me instead of people at the Bureau?”

  “I don’t want anyone there to know that I’m not buying the Bertok-alone theory. That’s why I want this kept quiet for now.”

  “If you have doubts about his involvement, why another agent?”

  “I’ve taken a look at Bertok’s phone records. There were no calls to anyone other than his brother in Minnesota, and his ex-wives both here and in Arizona. That suggests someone he had regular contact with, like at work. Again, that’s why I’m here; I don’t want to ask the wrong person in the office.”

  Tye took a long drag on her cigarette. “I hate to point any fingers, but there is one person Bertok worked with on occasion. Vince Pendaran. And he is sort of connected to the enemies list.”

  “How?”

  “The first victim—Connie Lysander, a former reporter turned whistle-blower. You know about her?”

  “Just what’s in the file.”

  “She made a lot of allegations around here, most of which were false. However, there were some firings, most notably the United States attorney, who was a good guy. There were also some suspensions, one of which was Pendaran for using the services of prostitutes. I don’t know why he wasn’t fired. He seems to be one of these guys who continually fall through the cracks.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Different. He worked undercover until he got caught stealing from a UC project. Again, I don’t know why he wasn’t fired. Instead, they transferred him to Bertok’s squad. If you haven’t picked up on it yet, it’s a dumping ground for problems in the office. The word is that the supervisor, Allen Sabine, never complains, so they keep handing him the problem children. Anyway, Pendaran came up here a couple of times with Stan when they needed the okay for an arrest that was a little shaky. There’s something about the way he looks at you. I don’t know, it’s cold, like he’s trying to figure out where your buttons are. I’d see him at parties. Very taciturn until he got the requisite number of drinks in him, which I think was one. Then you’d find his hand on your ass. Everyone pretty much treated him like he had the plague, you know, an OPR incident looking for a place to land. That is, everybody but Bertok. For some reason Pendaran seemed to respond to him. You know, Stan could get him to do some work even if it was only as his gofer. And to a degree, socially as well. He’d take the effort to drag him into conversations at office functions. I guess even the most downtrodden needs the occasional project to ensure there’s at least one person below him on the food chain.”

  Vail’s cell phone rang. It was Kate. “We just got word. They matched Bertok’s gun to the four victims and the shooting yesterday.”

  “Does that include the shell casing from the third murder?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Why is that important?”

  “I’ll explain when I see you. Will you be available to take a ride a little later?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll see you in an hour or two.” Vail hung up. “As you could probably tell from that call, they matched Bertok’s gun to everything from the first homicide to yesterday’s shooting.”

  “Then are you still interested in Pendaran?”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting,” she said. “I assume you’d prefer someplace away from the office to converse with him.”

  “Like where?”

  “It came out during the Lysander exposé, his trips to professional ladies were almost daily. That’s why he was so easy for her, and OPR, to catch. The names and addresses are in the DOJ file.”

  “Where is that kept?”

  She stubbed out her cigarette on the outside sill, tossed the butt into the six-story air shaft, and pulled the window closed. She sat down at her desk and typed on her keyboard. “I obtained a copy of it for my own private edification, trying to fi
nd a loophole for the old United States attorney when he was under fire for not properly leading the troops. Unfortunately, like the FBI, we have strict rules about showing files to outside agencies, so you can’t see this.” She gave him a crooked smile. “I’m going to lunch. Do me a favor when you leave, shut down my computer.”

  “I owe you one, Tye.”

  “That’s a funny thing, Agent Vail. I keep hearing that around here, but no one ever seems to pay up. Care to be a trendsetter?”

  Vail smiled noncommittally and watched as that vague loneliness seeped back into her eyes.

  AS VINCE PENDARAN exited the Swedish Academy of Massage and walked to his Bureau car, Vail watched him, trying to decide whether his gait was the same as that of the man who had walked into the house on Spring Street the day before. As he put the key in the lock, Vail walked up behind him silently and measured his height and weight. “I guess you don’t have to worry about going to these places now that Connie Lysander is dead.”

  Pendaran spun around. His sweaty black hair hung low on his forehead, his eyebrows thick and lowered in disdain. He was powerfully built, his stance now angry. “Who are you?”

  Vail pulled out his credential case with the gold badge on the outside. He didn’t bother opening it.

  “You OPR?” Pendaran asked. “I was just seeing a source.”

  Vail laughed. “That’s it? You’ve been hit for this once before and that’s as creative as you can get? Let me give you a tip: get a better story because the next time OPR comes for you, they’re bringing machetes.”

  Pendaran’s eyes darted around the lot before he said, “Why don’t we talk in the car.”

  Vail went around to the passenger’s side and got in. “I’m Steve Vail.”

  “The guy from headquarters that Stan is supposed to have tried to shoot?”

  “Supposed to have?”

  “Stan was a friend of mine, and I know he did some out-of-bounds stuff, but shooting at people, that wasn’t him.”

  “Money can change people in a hurry.”

  “You’d have to prove it to me.”

  “Was he a good enough friend that you might want to get something going on the side?”

  Pendaran’s head snapped toward Vail. “I hope you’re not saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “Actually, I am.”

  “Oh no, not me. I don’t know anything about any murders.”

  “Weren’t you two partners?”

  “On the job, sometimes. And that was all.”

  “If you didn’t help him, who else could have?”

  “Why don’t you get out of my car.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Pendaran smiled viciously. “That would turn a very mediocre afternoon into a very pleasant one.”

  “Then, between you and Bertok, that would make you the violent one.”

  “Do yourself a favor and leave before you find out.”

  “Not the way I would have played it, Vince, but then I never murdered anyone.” Pendaran glared at him, and Vail stared back with an amused calm. “At least not in cold blood.”

  Vail got out and watched as the Bureau car sped out of the lot.

  SIXTEEN

  WHEN VAIL CAME THROUGH THE DOOR OF KATE’S OFFICE, SHE SAID, “Where have you been?”

  “Out looking for the guy on the grassy knoll.”

  “You think someone else is involved?”

  He told her about his time analysis at the tunnel.

  She took a moment to consider what he had found. “What about—no, that wouldn’t work.” She took a few more seconds to consider other possibilities. “It sounds like he couldn’t have done it without help.”

  “Bertok worked with a guy named Vince Pendaran. He’s got some speed bumps in his personnel file. One of them was Connie Lysander. I just caught him coming out of a full-service massage parlor. I put some angst on him but not enough to get a good read.”

  “And?”

  “He’s not the right size for the guy that we saw going in the house yesterday, and his walk was different. Just the same, keep his name in the back of your Rolodex.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not the right size’? I thought Stan Bertok was the perfect size to play the role of Stan Bertok.”

  “Really, I thought he was a little too tall.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Patience, Bannon, all questions will be answered during this afternoon’s field trip. Hopefully.”

  “Oh, yeah, this has promotion written all over it,” she said. “This Pendaran, where did you come up with him?”

  “Tye Delson.”

  “That’s getting to be a regular stop on your little errands list.”

  “I’m becoming addicted to secondhand smoke.”

  “So, this ride we’re taking, I assume it has something to do with your undetected co-conspirator?”

  “Are you ready?”

  She pulled on her jacket and tapped her hip, verifying she was armed. “Gun, check.” Tapped the breast pocket of her blazer. “Credentials, check.” She opened her mouth and ran a finger behind her back molar. “Cyanide capsule, check.” She picked up her briefcase. “To the Batcave.”

  As they got in the elevator, Vail asked, “What’s going on with Money Search L.A.?”

  “For a reality show, it’s pretty surreal. It’s an all-hands production. Kaulcrick and Hildebrand are running it from the major-case room. If they’ve got anything going, I haven’t heard about it.” When he didn’t say anything she glanced over at him. His eyes had become unfocused, and she knew that he hadn’t heard her. She leaned back against the wall and waited. When the doors opened in the basement, he finally looked at her. “Why did the killer pick up his casings after the first three murders but not after the fourth?”

  “Oh, I know this one,” she said facetiously. “Because it doesn’t matter. Everything has been matched to Bertok’s gun.”

  “I know you can’t answer every little question about a crime, but this one doesn’t seem to be that small to me.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “The more crimes a person commits, the more mistakes he makes. Maybe he got scared off the fourth time. Maybe he couldn’t find it. Maybe he had a plane to catch. Is it really that big a deal?”

  “By itself, it’s not. But why pick them up at all? He was leaving the slugs behind, which are much more incriminating and easier to identify.”

  “After the first two, we announced that the slugs matched, so the killer knew we could identify the gun. He probably figured if we matched the slugs, why bother picking up the brass?”

  “If they didn’t want them matched, then why use the same gun?” Vail said.

  “I suppose they wanted everyone to know that they were responsible for all of the killings.”

  “Exactly. If they wanted the world to know, why pick up the casings in the first place?”

  Kate finally took a moment to consider the inconsistency. “That’s a good question.”

  They got to the car, and Vail put his briefcase in the trunk. Kate could see a shotgun case and a long silver-colored pry bar in the trunk. “What’s that?”

  “A Halligan. It’s a fire department tool. I like to think of it as an all-purpose key.”

  “Just so I’m clear, you intend to use it on a door, not on a person.”

  “Where’s your spirit of adventure?”

  “And where did the shotgun come from? And more important, why do you think we’ll need it?”

  “It’s a new option from the car rental company. They call it their hunter-gatherer option.”

  Then she noticed a large square black case that she hadn’t seen since the advent of the Bureau’s Evidence Response Teams. “And an evidence kit?”

  “Chance favors the prepared mind.”

  “In other words, if you find evidence, you can keep all your hole cards hidden.”

  “And to think I was reluctant to bring you along,” Vail said. “Keep it up and
I’m not going to let you be my girlfriend anymore.”

  “When we get on the freeway, let me know when you get up to eighty so I can dive into oncoming traffic.”

  Once they cleared the garage, Vail drove for a while without speaking. Then he said, “Okay, let’s look at this. Why did Bertok go to that house on Spring Street? The money wasn’t there. Nothing was there. It seems like a major mistake, since he used that address to rent a car. Especially after such an extraordinarily well-planned series of crimes.”

  “Also a good question.”

  “That’s two good questions too many.”

  “Can I assume we’re going back to Spring Street?”

  “Yes, you may,” he said. “I’m curious about one other thing. How come you’re not helping Kaulcrick find the money.”

  “Have you noticed any changes in the assistant director in the last twenty-four hours?”

  “I haven’t noticed any changes other than he’s let it become a little more obvious that he has an ego.”

  “Well, you’re right, he does have an ego, and usually he’s pretty good at keeping it in check until after he delivers the coup de grâce. But I think he’s getting tired of trying to navigate through your vapor trail. He knows that you and I are working together, so I’m sure I’ll be the last to know anything that might give you an advantage.”

  He smiled at her. “Then I guess we’d better find the money ourselves.”

  “Why am I suddenly getting the feeling that you don’t think that money is in locker number fourteen?”

  “Human nature is to be lazy,” Vail said. “I’m always suspicious of things that seem too easy.”

  “And, of course, you’d never bother Kaulcrick with your suspicions.”

  “I have already told him, and everyone else, that the biggest obstacle in this case is distraction. They listen, nod their heads in agreement, and then go running after the first shiny object.”

  “Funny how, once again, that leaves you all alone to do what you want.”

  “There is one basic tenet of metaphysics that guided my career as an agent: If they’re there, they ain’t here.”